In another late-night adventure to the grocery store, I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life.
It was a Thursday night. It was cold and silent in the desolate market across the street from my apartment. I came for one thing, as I usually do, and it was coffee. Not just any coffee, I came for the holiest of coffees.
Gevalia coffee is the greatest Swedish delicacy I’ve come across. Its bright yellow bag stands out on the shelf among all of the other boring coffees, just waiting anxiously to be grabbed and brought to a warm home. I grabbed the first bag I saw without thinking twice, which is where my nightmare began.
I got home and started boiling some water and let my french press do its magic on the Gevalia coffee grounds — not aware of the consequences.
I slowly and dramatically poured it into my favorite mug as my mouth salivated and I shed a tear of joy. I took one sip. It was the sip that changed everything. It was the same Gevalia taste I was craving, but something was missing.
I am honest when I say it was the strangest moment of my life. I looked at the bag to see if anything was different, then dropped the bag in shock as I read the word “decaf” on the front.
The coffee had the same expensive taste without the caffeine kick I truly craved. How in the world was I supposed to stay awake really late to procrastinate on my homework and play Mario Kart without caffeine? In alliterate terms, I did the deed, but the deed didn’t deliver.
I wish there were more words to describe how I felt at that very moment, but these come to mind: empty, hollow, disappointed, unsatisfied, betrayed and distraught. This may have been the lowest point in my life. This was rock bottom. The devil has a name, and that name is “decaf.”